#down bad ling

[somepsychopomp]

Come Home To Me pt. 1

i still feel so fucking insane right now. Today I drafted the first chapter of my Edling royal marriage fic where Ling is down insanely badly and wants to have Ed all to himself. i'd make up a better summary if my brain wasn't a withered husk rn but i did my best. This and future updates will probs be posted to my ao3.

Excerpt:

“Edward Elric,” Shen repeated, stroking his beard, “For what purpose must we seek him out?”

The Emperor’s smile widened. “I���m going to make him my Empress, of course.”

(word count: 4,442)

+++

Edward was glad to be returning to Resembool. 

The day was beautiful, the sky clear and brilliant blue. The rolling fields passed by his train window as he ached for a hot meal at Granny’s table. 

He was tired after a long stint of nonstop field world, and in heavy need of some deep cleaning on his automail, but couldn’t be happier. He had a suitcase stuffed full of research notes and plenty of good anecdotes to share. He didn’t yet know if he’d publish his findings, but he had someone looking forward to seeing them. 

Ed had spent the last four months in the northeasternmost fringes of Amestris, basically living out in the desert with minimal contact with civilization. He wasn’t opposed to the hard work, though. Not when the potential knowledge was so tantalizing. 

He functioned as the alchemical expert for a group of archaeologists from Central. They found fragments of Xerxesian architecture buried in the desert and with them, signs of alchemy. When Ed arrived at the site, it was little more than a bunch of holes dug into the heavy sand and some scraps of stone the archaeologists and their students found.

Ed turned an archaeological graveyard into an oasis. He found the proof that approximately nine centuries ago, Xerxes had a small outpost near what was now the border of Amestris. The older researchers on the team proposed it was a trading hub or colony. Ed had reason to believe it was some kind of remote lab, so experimental alchemy could be conducted safely away from the main populace of Xerxes. 

He wasn’t going to stick around long enough to fight for his point, though. He’d seen what he’d wanted to see and learned what he set out to learn. He was going to be proven right, eventually. So it didn’t matter if he stuck around or not. Even though Ed had done his part and even though the majority team begged him to stay on, promising him additional pay, he knew it was time to come home.  

Alphonse would already be waiting for him, after all. And it’d been almost ten months since they'd last seen each other. 

Ed felt the little warm flurry in his chest grow with excitement. Yeah, they were both adults now, it felt natural for them to want to do their own things. And they did, planning their own trips in pursuit of their individual interests. But they were still brothers and he couldn’t wait to see Alphonse again. 

Not that he’d ever admit it to Al’s face, but Ed still kept a beaten up copy of Alphonse’s first published research paper in the lining of his suitcase, ready to shove it into the face of anyone who dared to not call Alphonse Elric the greatest alchemist currently alive. 

And admittedly, doing so made Ed feel painfully like the late Maes Hughes. Maybe he finally understood why a man would be possessed to carry documentation of his family everywhere he went. 

But that was all behind him now. As all things came to an end, so did his voyage. The train pulled into the station and Ed jumped off the very second he was able to, hauling his heft suitcase in one arm as he ran for the waiting figure on the platform. 

“Brother!” 

Ed smiled. The two of them embraced and it really did feel like coming home. 

“I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?”

Alphonse laughed. He looked about the same as before their split. Still so tall, still so strongly built. A happy far cry from the emaciated body Ed pulled out of the gate. It was insane, how Alphonse looked so much like their dad now. And he imagined that when Al looked at him, he saw Hohenheim in Ed’s face, too. As much as Ed was loath to imagine it. 

Al kept his hair short as well, while Ed’s had only gotten longer and longer. Alphonse noticed, of course he did, and waved around the end of Ed’s braid. 

“Are you ever going to cut this thing?”

“Never.”

Trisha Elric had long hair, so Edward Elric had long hair. Though maybe at this point, his was longer than even hers had been. It was getting hard to remember now. In his faint and watercolored childhood memories, it didn’t matter how long his hair was because hers always seemed longer. He was sure if he looked at one of Granny’s old photos of her, he’d see differently. 

Funny, how the mind played tricks like that. 

Alphonse tried and failed to take Ed’s suitcase as they walked to the Rockbell household. Ed swatted his hand away. 

“Just let me carry it, Al. It’s heavy.” 

“That’s more reason why I should take it. You’ve lugged it across the countryside, why don’t you let yourself rest for once?”

Ed blew the stray hairs from his eyes. Maybe his bangs could do with a trim, at least. He’d have to see if Granny or Al would be willing to take up the scissors for him, Ed didn’t trust himself enough to make it look halfway decent. 

The two of them chatted about nothing in particular, saving their best stories for when they could put their feet up and enjoy a drink together. Or at least that’s what Ed thought was happening, but he couldn’t help but notice Al was relaying details about minute town gossip with more enthusiasm than expected. 

“Everything alright, Al?”

“Of course, why do you ask?”

Ed shot him a sideways grin. “You’re a shit liar. What’s up?”

Al huffed and puffed but eventually, Ed needled the truth out of him. 

“Well, we’ve got company, actually. They’ve been in town for a few days already. And once they found out I was picking you up from the train station, they insisted on seeing you today.”

“Huh?” Ed scoured his cramped head for any plan he might’ve missed. Did someone he know say they were coming to visit? He asked, “Who is it?”

Al smiled, mischievous in his own right. “You’ll see.”

That made Ed wonder if it was someone from the military. Probably not the newly-promoted Brigadier General Bastard, so maybe someone else?

When they arrived, he didn’t see an extra car outside. On the porch, Ed did his best to shake the sand out of his coat pockets and boots before stepping inside. Immediately, he was hit with the fusion scent of coffee and motor oil. Tension he didn’t even know he was carrying drained out of his body as Ed called out, “I’m back!” 

No click-clack of mismatched paws came running in response. It was still hard to remember that Den wasn’t around to greet them at the door anymore. 

Ed left his suitcase by the door as Al led him into the kitchen, where Granny was sitting at the table with a grouchy looking old man and a young woman with dark hair. They all turned to look at him and it felt like an electric current was sent through his entire body. No way… 

“Lan Fan!” 

She still had the same sharp, dark eyes that Ed remembered from when they were younger. She stood, her expression lighting up at the sight of Ed. 

“Edward Elric!” 

She bowed for him, which felt downright silly. They went so far back, after all. And if Lan Fan was here…

“What are you doing on this side of the desert? Where's Ling? Is he with you?”

The old man cleared his throat and stood. He looked like the kind of guy Ed could easily imagine in the upper echelons of the military or a Xingese court: gray hair and beard, humorless expression, one hand wrapped tight around the curved handle of an ornate, darkwood cane. He was wrapped in loose, emerald green robes while Lan Fan was dressed how Ed remembered her. All black. 

“It is my obligation to accept questions and negotiations on the Emperor’s behalf,” the old man said. He spoke in an extremely thick Xingese accent, but enunciated his words with care. He shot Lan Fan a look, “Is it not?”

Ed’s mood soured slightly. Whoever the old fart was, he wasn’t interested. 

And yet, the old man said, “I am His Majesty’s most senior adviser, Yao Shen. I was sent at His Majesty’s request to locate one Edward Elric and deliver a message.”

To me? Ed wondered. 

The last time he spoke to Ling was when they were teenagers. The idea of trying to contact him again crossed Ed’s mind over the years, admittedly much more than once. After all, Alphonse kept in contact with Mei. He’d even made several trips across the desert to see her and study alkahestry in Xing. 

But Ling just felt so different. He got crowned as Emperor when he was seventeen! And Ed remembered so well how news swept across Amestris of the child king in Xing, who apparently went on a sojourn through their country only a year prior to his coronation. Ed just had no idea how he could ever reach across the world to someone like that. 

So he never did, as cowardly as it was. And seven whole years had gone by since they were a pair of teenagers fighting to save the world. Ed was twenty-two now and thought his chance to see Ling again, no matter how slim, was gone. 

But now Ling’s closest and most loyal vassal was in his kitchen. With a weird old man to boot.  

“Yes, yes. We’re all here for one reason or another,” a new voice said. Ed looked over to see Granny stirring a big pot on the stove. She said, “But all of that can wait. It’s supper time and my boys must be hungry.”

Lan Fan didn’t seem to be in any rush. And if she wasn’t treating this like it was urgent, it probably wasn’t. The five of them sat down at the table, where Ed got to eat a heaping bowl of Granny’s famous beef stew with fresh bread. For a few glorious minutes, he forgot he was being a poor host by not participating in the conversation while he stuffed his mouth. 

Subsisting off of dry rations for four months left one starved for flavor.

Once he had some proper food in his belly, he finally took note of Lan Fan’s arm. It had the super polished look of someone who’d just seen a mechanic, not like Ed’s brushed metal limbs.

“You’ve been taking good care of your automail,” he said. 

Lan Fan smiled. She held out her hand to let it catch in the light. “Your grandmother has been generous enough to do some maintenance on my arm these past few days.”

“Is that right?” Ed asked. He didn’t even bother to correct her, that Granny wasn’t related by blood. It still surprised him. Ed knew Granny was partially retired these days; she didn’t take on new clients anymore, just did repairs and cleanings. 

He was glad she agreed to take a look at Lan Fan. Xing, as he was told, sorely lacked automail mechanics. Too bad Winry was up to her ears in work in Rush Valley, he knew she would’ve loved to ogle at a good arm. 

Granny said, “As someone who’s seen my fair share of automail in all sorts of shapes and states, it’s my professional recommendation that you have yours examined by a mechanic at least once a year.”

“That is simply not possible, given her immense obligations,” Shen said. 

Ed and Al shot each other a knowing look. Why on earth was Lan Fan traveling with this old fart? 

“The Emperor sends for an Amestrian mechanic whenever my arm becomes too damaged to operate,” Lan Fan said, as simple as if she was commenting on the weather. 

Ed stared at her, mouth agape. As someone who’d gotten into far too many fights to count over the course of his life, some of which ended up in his automail getting completely shattered, he wondered what kind of things Lan Fan had endured in recent years. 

And by extension, what all that meant for Ling. Ling, who was not here but felt the need to send Lan Fan in his stead. 

Lan Fan turned to Ed and Al. “Now, tales of your exploits have been reaching Xing for years, but it’s often impossible to tell what’s fiction and what’s fact. I would love to know what the Elric brothers have actually been doing since we last crossed paths.”

It was a little hard to tell if she was actually interested or just changing the subject. Ed didn’t press either way. Alphonse, either by using some secret telepathic power or just knowing how Ed operated, stopped him from running to get his copy of Al’s research. He instead gave a summarized version of his studies on combining alchemy and alkahestry. 

As their bowls ran empty, Ed figured it was time to broach the subject of why they had guests at all. 

“So what’s the message meant just for me?” he asked, bracing an elbow on the table. 

Shen seemed unphased. “Unfortunately, it directly involves the security of our Emperor and must be delivered in private.”

“Oh?”

Ed turned to Lan Fan. Up until now, she seemed warm and inviting, a huge difference from her stoic self he first met. But even she shook her head. 

“I must agree. It can only be given in complete secrecy.”

Ed resisted the urge to grin. Whatever it was, he could easily imagine Ling landed himself in some sort of trouble and needed help from the former Fullmetal Alchemist. Ed might’ve quit the military and lost his ability to do alchemy, but he was still a force to be reckoned with. 

“Fine, then. I know where we can talk.”

Bidding Al and Granny a temporary goodbye, Ed led his two guests out of the house and up a dirt path. The sun was starting to set now, just touching the horizon and bathing everything in blinding gold. The air here was warm but not dry like the desert. It was damp and full of life. 

Ed guided them up a hill as the ruins of his childhood home loomed ever larger. He didn’t stop when they reached the derelict structure, stepping over scorched wood beams and the old stone foundation, leading them into the heart of his family’s house. 

“What is this place?” Lan Fan asked. 

Ed stopped just short of the stone stairs that led to the basement. No one in Resembool came up here. Maybe they were too afraid to, maybe it was a sign of respect. He noticed that no signs of vandalism or graffiti cropped up over the years. 

He put his hands in his coat pockets and said, “This was my home when I was a child. Now why don’t you answer me this, what did you come all this way to tell me?”

+++

The order from her Emperor to travel to Amestris without him was quite a shock to Lan Fan when she first received it. Not to mention His Imperial Majesty wanted her to guide Advisor Shen. He was so old, she honestly thought this could’ve been a ploy to have him perish in the desert to finally be rid of him.

The old man wasn’t happy about it either, even though he did his best to conceal it. 

Alone in a private audience with the Emperor, he bowed profusely and repeatedly while asking, “A thousand pardons, my Emperor. But what exactly do you wish an old man like myself to achieve in Amestris?”

Shen was a spoiled member of the Yao clan’s lesser nobility who used to be a close personal friend of Ling’s father. He climbed considerable heights by constantly praising the last Emperor, only to now find himself serving a much younger man with no interest in keeping his father’s past friends wealthy. 

It was rare that Lan Fan was ever out in the open too, but as her Emperor specifically wanted an audience with her as well, she stood side by side with the old adviser. 

His Majesty smiled serenely at Shen. “Your task in Amestris is to seek out Fullmetal Alchemist Edward Elric. Lan Fan is to escort you, seeing as she’s one of the… maybe two or three Xingese citizens who actually knows what he looks like.”

If she could speak freely, Lan Fan might have protested as well. She could never leave her Lord vulnerable, even if he did have other guards and the entire Imperial army at his disposal now. 

He cast his gaze upon her, expectant. She knew precisely why he wanted to find Edward Elric. She was perhaps the only person in the world who knew, who he trusted to know.  

And she took that trust very seriously. It was not her place to approve or disapprove of his desires, only to see them fulfilled. 

“Edward Elric,” Shen repeated, stroking his beard, “For what purpose must we seek him out?”

The Emperor’s smile widened. “I’m going to make him my Empress, of course.”

Lan Fan was staring straight ahead when he said so, arms on her knees as she knelt and awaited further instructions. But she would have loved to see Shen’s face if his startled, haggard coughing fit was anything to go by. 

His Majesty’s smile grew terse. “Something the matter, Shen?”

“Oh, well… I- I cannot… my Lord…”

“You cannot what? Condone my decision? You object, is that it?”

“No, no! I would never, your Imperial Majesty!”

He grew silent as the Emperor stood, his silken robes falling around his powerful frame. He descended the steps of his throne and Shen once more pressed his forehead to the floor in subservience. 

“Stand up.”

They both did so. 

The Emperor produced his right hand from the length of his robes and pulled a golden ring from his finger. It was newly made, polished to a mirror shine.

“Shen, you will take this ring and guard it well. When you find Edward Elric, you will hold my ring up to his image. And when you do, remember which is more impressive.”

+++

Yao Shen only ever wanted to live comfortably. And for many decades, he did exactly that. He wore nice clothing of moderate detail, had multiple sons, kept his head low in court, and was rewarded with a lifetime of servility by being named a chief advisor in the imperial court. Now, however, he thought he might just reach his end. In a foreign land surrounded by alien peasants, no less. 

Because his Emperor was correct. Edward Elric was more splendid than gold. 

At first, he hadn’t been happy at all to make the trip across the desert. He bitterly cursed his ill fortune under his breath, knowing full well His Majesty’s dog was his sole traveling companion. Then it was a matter of locating the insignificant village that the famed Fullmetal Alchemist came from. And even then, they could not rest until they found Edward himself. 

And when they did finally see him in person, Shen had not been very impressed. Edward Elric was clothed like a simple traveler, in plain garments and a rugged red coat. No silk, no gold, no silver. His boots were caked in dirt and his gloves were stained a reddish brown from the desert. His complexion was less than fair, his face tanned by the sun to a degree that most matchmakers would deem unacceptable.

Not to mention the fact that the boy referred to His Imperial Majesty, the Son of Heaven, by his given name! Had that mistake slipped anyone’s lips within Xing, they’d be executed. 

But everything changed when he saw Edward Elric in the sunlight. 

In the glow of the setting sun, Edward Elric looked like a lion. His long blond hair framed his face and reached his lower back. Shen was aware that it was common in Amestris for men to keep their hair short, as preposterous as it was. One’s body was a gift from their parents and to cut any part of it was to disrespect them. Edward Elric had very respectable long hair. 

And his eyes. The palace menagerie kept a host of exotic animals, including actual lions. The Fullmetal Alchemist had the eyes of a fierce and unflinching warrior, so bright and piercing. It was clear he’d seen and won many battles, but he wasn’t a brute, either. No, his were a set of dangerously intelligent eyes. 

It wasn’t necessary, Shen knew when he’d been defeated, but he could never deny an order from his Emperor. So he reached into his pocket and produced a small bundle of cloth. With trembling fingers, he unwrapped the golden ring entrusted to him and held it up to Edward Elric.

Both shined with a sort of blinding brilliance, as if the sun itself wished to pour all its warmth over the boy’s shoulders. He perfectly matched the descriptions of the Great Sage of the West, the founder of alkahestry. Any dignitary worth their salt would know what an auspicious sign this was… and that the young Emperor tragically chose his future concubine well. Very well. 

+++

Ed blinked, going cross-eyed as something small was held in front of his face. He leaned back, seeing that it was a golden ring. Thick and heavy-looking, too. 

“Uh…”

He moved to reach for the ring, unsure if that was what they wanted, but the old man simply tucked it back into his pocket. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for humoring an old man. Lan Fan, tell him.”

Was it just his imagination, or was she smiling ever so faintly? 

She stepped forward and said, “His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Xing will be arriving in Amestris in three days for a diplomatic mission. He will be arriving in Central City to speak with your Fuhrer and parliament and is scheduled to remain in your country for fifteen days. While he is here, he wishes to see you again.”

Lan Fan produced a small package from a pouch in her belt and presented it with both hands. “He asked me to give you this gift as a token of his earnestness.”

Ling wanted to see him?

Lightheaded, Ed accepted the gift. It wasn’t heavy at all.

Lan Fan raised her brows. Open it. 

So he undid the twine wrapping. It wasn’t what he expected, not that he had any idea what it could be. Ed held up the length of silk to the light. It was a long, thin strip of crimson cloth embroidered with gold. It was beautiful. He didn’t know what it could possibly be for, but he appreciated it. After all, 

Ling remembers me…

“Tell me something,” Ed said, running his fingers over the cloth, amazing as how smooth it was, “How has he been, all these years?”

“He has been well, thank you for your concern,” Lan Fan said. “He is looking forward to having your company once more.”

+++

Once Shen was excused from the throne room and it was just the two of them, Ling didn’t feel like sending Lan Fan back to her post as his invisible hand. He needed a friend right now. 

Sighing, he said, “It’s been a long time, Lan Fan.”

She nodded. “It has.”

Almost a decade had gone by since they last saw Edward Elric. 

He thumbed at the hem of his robe, thinking. “What if I’m too late?”

“You must not lose hope, your Majesty. He is still not married. Even if there was someone standing in your way, what real threat could they pose to you?”

He nodded, thankful as ever for her steadfastness. Unlike his endless officials, servants, and his stupid siblings all vying for his favor, Lan Fan had earned it long ago. He respected her opinion far more than many of theirs, as well. And if she had faith in him, perhaps that was a good sign. 

He wandered over to the windows behind his throne, whose light reflected off his gilded ceiling and his crimson pillars. The imperial palace sprawled before him, more wealthy than any other country he knew of. 

What would Edward think of it all if he could see it now?

He was going to see it, Ling reminded himself. He’d waited long enough, now was the time to finally act. 

The last time they saw each other was as children at the tender age of fifteen. Ling’s father held onto his throne for little over a year by no small miracle, but of all his brothers and sisters, it was him who was crowned successor before he was even an adult. 

He spent the first few years of his reign cementing his rule and keeping his country stable as power changed hands. He protected the Chang clan from extinction, elevated his own, improved trade and relations to the east, and chose peace treaties over war declarations. Now he was turning his efforts into improving relations with the west. 

The common folk such as his farmers and merchants loved him too, he made sure of it. Edward was born of common blood, after all. And he was famous across the world for his efforts to help those that could not help themselves. 

If he could, he would send Lan Fan to seek out Edward alone. She’d do it in half the time if she didn’t have a bag of bones tethered to her. Even though Yao Shen was a member of their own clan, Ling never really liked him. He was slow to adapt and too haughty for his age. But he was also a valuable pawn. Given his seniority among palace staff, if Ling could convince him that Edward was worth more than his weight in gold, the rest of his courts would follow suit without any effort on Ling’s part at all. 

Yes, convincing his people was the easy part. The least predictable element in all his plans was Edward himself. Unsurprising, but Ling wouldn’t have it any other way. 

At the age of twenty-two, he felt so old yet still so impossibly young. He knew he had a whole life ahead of him yet, but could not find it in himself to wait a moment longer. 

He closed his eyes and made a promise to himself. No going back from this point, no more waiting. He was going to have an Empress, this he knew since he was fifteen. 

So no matter the cost, Yao Ling was going to have Edward Elric.

[beanghostprincess]

Okay, so I haven't watched all of FMAB yet, but I love how Ed is so fucking oblivious. He got a gorgeous girl, way smarter than him and out of everybody's league, who plays with the cord of the telephone when they speak together because she's down bad and laughs softly when he talks. And he's like "yeah, yeah, well, I am glad you're alive haha I thought they were going to brutally fucking murder you today. So that's a relief. Bye, super best friend in the world" and hangs up like the moron he is. But not only that, because well, they can't see each other so I get he doesn't notice the crush in Winry's voice, BUT LING?????? Dude has been with that prince inside a guy's stomach and has carried him around and cooked him his boot and yelled at him for giving up because he can't leave somebody as ambitious as him there without accomplishing what he wants, and then he says some gay bullshit like "Ling is still in there" after looking at Greed's eyes ONCE. One thing is not realizing a girl is crushing on you but Oh my God Edward for fuck's sake get a clue and realize you like men-

[tea-cat-arts]

You know what, I've read enough fanfic. I'm confiscating Madame Yu from you guys

Free my girl- she did the things she's being accused of, but not as frequently or severely as the fandom pretends, her actions are being taken out of context, and her depth is being reduced to that of a Colleen Hoover antagonist

[dramashii]

See you.

THE PRINCESS ROYAL (2024) | Ep 28

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Stop flirting and start fighting

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

《山河令》 WORD OF HONOR (2021) | Episode 20

Dear, the kiss that steals your breath Will steal your soul instead When night is all that's left So wait, keep your heart inside My hand won't keep it safe I'll just feed on dreams and smile as hope slowly dies –The Rigs, Run Baby Run

[raddestrose]

I wanna learn the Link Click hand dance SO BAD

[nerditudes]

@loyaltyforged for Ling: She’s here to quickly and quietly lecture him about relinquishing control of his body to a stranger. “This is what happens with you give your body to a homunculus — they forget how to eat and die from a lousy dumpling!! Young lord, this isn’t like Ratatouille!!”

"Oh come on-- Greed just needs to learn!" Ling was swift to jump to the defense of his homonculus. Despite his best efforts to simply see things as business, the bastard had grown on him. So much so that Ling spent a majority of his time resting, letting Greed take control of their form.

"He won't get me killed, have some faith in our avaricious ally!"

[robyntherav3n]

tsubaki straight asf i would have immediately crumbled if litchi invited me to her place

[flockofdoves]

i always go on about wanting everyone to get into black sails but actually when it comes down to it maybe i just want everyone in the world to get into phonetics and phonology so we can get into the weird minutiae of dialectal variation and speech production and our personal experiences thereof in day to day conversations together. its literally so cool

[greenorangevioletgrass]

this is gonna haunt me in my dreams. tashi, you truly are evil. and when he mentioned the patrick thing with his hand between your thigh?? shiiiiiiit. also the hanging your jeans over the car door is so silly but so on point? man, im getting shivers just reading this. thank you <333

strategic manoeuvre.

— WITH…ART DONALDSON!

contains...babysitter!reader, age gap, 18+ MDNI, art cheats w reader but it is lowkey implied that tashi planned the whole thing, car sex, semi-public sex, head (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, inspired by this post from @traumatrios

You had never been interested in tennis before Art. 

You weren’t interested in sports at all, really — you just wanted to buckle down and focus on your college work, earn some money with an easy part-time job. You didn’t have time to follow sports, or anything else. 

But then you got a call. You had been in the middle of a lecture when your phone buzzed against your notebook, a California number shining up at you and enticing you to pick up. Normally you would’ve let it go to voicemail, but you had recently gone around some of the fancier hotels in your city with flyers, asking for babysitting jobs and posting your number, so you excused yourself with a wave and took the call in the hallway. 

You didn’t know who Tashi Donaldson was when she introduced herself, but the hotel she’d asked you to come to later that night was fancy enough that you didn’t question it. You had done an extensive google search afterwards, of course, but simply raised an impressed brow at her repertoire. 

Then you met Art, her tennis player husband and the father of the lovely little girl you would be taking care of, and suddenly you were pretty interested in tennis. 

It started when Lily had a bad nightmare and you couldn’t get her down — well, it started when you met the guy, palm sweaty in his own as he introduced himself, but it didn’t really start until you had to put one of his old games on the TV for the girl to watch until she fell asleep at your side, tear tracks from her bad dream dry on her cheeks. 

You had been planning on carrying her back to her bed when she was down for the count, but you had been so fixated on Art’s movements; his determined look, his arms, his legs, that you ended up dropping out too. You woke up a few hours later with a blanket over your body and Art standing quietly at the kitchen island behind the sofa. 

“You looked peaceful. Didn't wanna wake you.” He’d said, sipping at his tea, and you knew you were done for. 

Now all of a sudden you had time to watch a tennis match in the morning, play one as background noise while you studied. You had started following his tennis journey right from the Junior Open in 2006 — you didn’t think you'd ever actually see him again, but you could fantasise about it whenever you remembered the smell of his cologne as he thanked you for taking care of Lily, promising a big tip would go straight into your account in the morning. 

(The money went in fifteen minutes after you’d left).

It came as a pleasant surprise when Tashi’s number popped up on your screen once more, a few months later. You had been in your kitchen, and took the call the moment you recognised the digits. 

“We’re a little ways out of town.” She’d said, “But Lily raved about you for days after last time, and we know you better than a stranger. If you can’t make it out here, don’t worry, but we still wanted to try our luck.”

We she’d said. As in her and Art. 

You cursed yourself for lusting after a married man in the uber to the hotel. 

From then on out, you became their primary babysitter. Since they travelled a lot, and Tashi’s mom was with them most of the time, you only really sat for them once every couple of months. The town you lived in was sunny and had a huge private sports centre for professional athletes — a fact you weren’t aware of until Art told you over a cup of tea — so they always came back. You were glad you could count on them coming back — it was like magic, the way your phone lit up with Tashi’s now saved contact whenever the late night bingeing of matches and interviews stopped fueling your infatuation. 

The guilt was almost enough to make you ignore it, say you were busy or just get a new number all together. But you never did. As much as you knew it was wrong, you always dropped what you were doing and drove to that cushy hotel where the receptionist knew your face and let you in with a smile. You travelled that same memorised route to the master suite, knocked on the door and made sure you were standing far enough away from the peep hole that you didn’t look weird and distorted when Art would look through before letting you in. 

It was always Art now. Tashi had greeted you a few times but lately it had always been him — a sick part of you thought she might’ve known about your crush on him, played with it for fun because she couldn’t play tennis anymore. But that was crazy, and you really needed to sort yourself out. 

You would greet him with a smile, push through the small talk, lean up against the kitchen island and watch his shirt stretch around the planes of his back as he made you coffee (On those unlucky days he would be wearing a shirt. Sometimes he would be just done with warm ups and physio and would answer the door half naked and covered in sweat. Those were the good days). Then Lily would come running at you from her room, hug you around your waist and pull you in to play; Art would laugh and grin at you, sliding the coffee cup in your direction and holding your eyes before heading to his room to get ready. 

You would be knee deep in headless barbies and chewed up polly pocket clothes when he and would return, dressed up and ready to go. He would lean down, kiss Lily on the forehead, and press his hand to your back in a silent goodbye. Then he would leave, and you would spend the whole day trying to pull yourself together. 

He was married. He was ten years older than you. He had a child, and was paying you to look after her. 

But he always made you coffee when you arrived — just how you liked it because he remembered. He always checked in on you, asked you how your life was while you nursed the mug that was warm from the beverage and his hands. He would tell Lily to behave for you because We like her, and we don’t want to scare her off. He would let his land linger on your back half a second longer every single time he left. 

But.

But Tashi was the one who would call you. She was the one who made you coffee the first time, told you it was the least they could do for you. She would walk out of her room with Art, smile at you and tell you how beautiful you look in that shirt. She would grin at you before leaving, waiting patiently by the door for her husband to take his hand off your back. 

You were evil. Truly. The guy was married. 

But as evil as you were, you always made sure there was an old game of his playing on the TV when they would return — because then Art would prompt you to stay and listen to him talk about it. And you would have an excuse to lean up against that island and watch him make tea while Tashi excused herself to bed. Hours would pass before he was checking his watch and hissing out an apology for keeping you so late, and then letting you leave. 

The first couple of times he’d simply make sure you got in your uber safely. Then he started calling cars himself, the same ones that would drive him and his family to and from matches, press events. The same sort of service celebrites used, not their babysitters. You didn’t mind — it was a thrill, listening to him ask the person behind the wheel to make sure you got back safely.

(The bar was under the court at this point, but at least you were aware of that).

But tonight was different. In more ways than one. 

In the beginning, all was the same. You were left sitting on the plush carpet of Lily’s room surrounded by lego pieces, a burning in your gut and guilt in your heart. You played doctor, you made dinner, ordered room service after her relentless begging, put on a movie, carried her sleeping form to bed, came back and watched Art play tennis until he returned. 

You had started to run out of games to watch, ones you hadn’t already seen, so settled for an old game from 2006. He was playing against his old partner, Patrick something, and you wondered where the lesser known second half of Fire and Ice had disappeared to after that night. 

Then Art came back, Tashi right behind him, and you smiled at them both over the back of the sofa. Tashi watched the game, something unfamiliar glinting in her irises, before blinking back at Art, “I’m going to bed.”

He responded a little slower, kissing her goodnight and looking back at you, “Tea? This game was one of my most memorable.”

“Even though you lost?” You teased, leaning against the marble. 

He paused, looking back at you. He blinked, “Yeah.”

You drank your tea. You pretended like you weren’t full of shame for standing that inch closer to him. You let him talk until he had nothing left to talk about, and watched him check his watch. You waited for him to pick up the phone and call the car — only he paused by the phone, hand floating just before it, and retracted his steps to the kitchen, “I’m gonna drive you back, if it’s not too much trouble. Saves waking up my driver.”

“Oh.” Your fingers twitched, and you told them to stop. “Sure, of course.” 

Art’s car wasn’t what you had expected. Thinking back on it, he didn’t seem like the sports car type, but his status and riches led you to assume you were about to get into one of the two seats in his Bugatti — you didn’t. The black jeep was expensive enough for someone like him, but close enough to home that you didn’t feel like an outsider climbing into the passenger seat.  

The drive wasn’t all that far — twenty minutes both ways, so Art would’ve been back before Tashi fell asleep if he hadn't pulled into a parking lot five minutes out. 

Your lips parted, eyes following his hands as they slid slowly off the wheel and into his thighs. His chest rose with a deep breath and his jaw constricted when he swallowed. Then he was looking at you, eyes piercing. 

“Lily likes you.”

You were unsure, feet shifting beneath you, the sound encasing the silence of the space and forcing you to stop and blink, “I’m glad. I like her.” 

“Tashi likes you.” 

You weren’t too positive that she would like you if she could feel how you were feeling now — that all too familiar heartbeat pulsing between your legs with every one of Art’s breaths. 

“I like you.” He finished, tilting his head until his temple rested softly on the headrest of his seat. His smile was almost taunting when he undid his seatbelt, “Which is your favourite?”

“What?”

“The games.” He clarified, knowing his question was too broad and that you would have to ask, “The ones you watch every time you’re over. The ones I assume you watch even when you aren’t sitting for us. My games. Which is your favourite?” 

“Oh. Um —“ Slightly distracted by the way he shed his jacket, dumping it in the backseat. He’d lent all the way forward to take it off and his eyes didn’t leave yours once. “I don’t know.” 

“The one you were watching tonight.” He asked then, “What’d you think of it? Honestly.” 

“Honestly?” You swallowed, mortified that you were even entertaining this, “You looked a little distracted.” 

He huffed a laugh, finally looking away and letting you breathe. It didn’t last long, because he was then getting out of the car and rounding the front of it. 

The breeze was cool when it hit you, Art blocking most of it from where he stood in the gap. His hand was still on the handle, but you were busy unbuckling your own seatbelt — the message had been received, you had crossed a line and he was kicking you out of his car. 

But when you turned, legs swinging carefully into the cold, his hand on your knee stopped you from really getting out. Your eyes snapped up to his, and you realised you had been caged — with one hand on the door and one hand on you, Art Donaldson had you right where you had been dreaming of him having you. It felt surreal. 

“My opponent. In the game from tonight.” He breathed, glancing around casually like you were having one of your simple conversations over tea. “He slept with my wife.”

Out of all the things… 

“What?” Your eyes darted between his, but the rest of your body otherwise remained still. Even when his hand on your knee travelled upwards. 

“He’d slept with her before. In college. We weren’t together then.” He was now watching his hand move, like he wasn’t the one moving it, “But then he slept with her again, in Atlanta. After I’d already married her.”

“Wow.” You breathed, mainly because it was the easiest word you could slide out of your mouth whilst holding your breath. His fingers reached your thigh, begged to dip between them. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He was quick to respond. Your legs parted on instinct, and at this point you had surrendered to being an awful person — although maybe you’d fallen asleep on the couch and this was all a dream. You didn’t think you’d be able to face Art if it was. You couldn’t even face him now. 

He took the newfound space for granted, stepping between your legs and holding them open with his body. His hand on the door followed him, taking its new place on your other leg. He rubbed up and down your thighs, but you couldn’t look away from his face. 

“I don’t want you watching him play.” He spoke lowly, tracing his fingertips around your waistband, “I’ve seen enough of his games.”

“Okay.” You didn’t hesitate to let out, swallowing the hungered saliva that had built up in your mouth. 

He unbuttoned your jeans, pulled the zipper down — painstakingly slow, but it allowed you time to brace your hands on the seat and the dashboard so you could raise your hips and let him slide them off you. 

You were stuck in your head, but Art didn’t seem to notice since he was too busy folding your jeans and hanging them over the open car door. You dared question it through a heavy breath but he just moved on to your panties, throwing them precariously on the dashboard and exposing your glittering cunt to his bright eyes. 

“We shouldn’t —“ It was a half-assed attempt at reconciling with your guilt, but the fact that you were half naked and spread eagle made it lose its meaning. 

Art shushed you, kneeling down so he was looking at your pussy, “We can, and we will.” Then he glanced back at you, brow arched, “Unless you don’t want to.”

Any sense of rationale had fucked off when he put his hand on your leg, so you swallowed and said, “I want to.”

He wasted no time, licking a thick stripe from your asshole to your clit. You knocked your head back with a gasped moan, bucking into him and hissing when the gear stick poked you in the back when you led back too far. 

You let out a shaky breath as he lapped you up, tongue dipping inside of you before travelling up to that sweet spot and sucking at it gently. You gasped and moaned, hands scrambling between holding yourself up and holding him down. His own were resting on your thighs — his calm and collected demeanour was a drastic contradiction from your own. 

His head nodded calmly between your legs, relaxed in its position — yours, shaky and tense all at once, neck bracing whenever you fell back. His hands tapped soft melodies on your skin whereas yours tightened around whatever was in their old, whether that be the leather of the seats or the blonde of Art’s hair. 

When he finally came up for air, his chin was coated in your slick, and he licked his lips clean before straightening up above you. You watched, paralysed, while he unbuckled his belt, threw it over the door with your jeans, and sent you a look under his lashes that you’d only seen him wear during his tennis matches. 

You had been keeping quiet earlier, but when he bottomed out inside you and started to piston, your mind went wild. Choruses of Oh my God and Fuck!, shouts of Art’s name and whimpers under your breath — it all came tumbling out and you couldn’t even try and stop it. 

Not that you wanted to; your vocality seemed to make him go faster, harder. It made him vocal, no longer calm and relaxed as he had been when eating you out, but loud and gruff. Grunts and moans you had dreamt about hearing outside of a television screen, now being huffed into the air you shared. 

You came with a whine and Art followed not long after, and you settled there for a moment — legs spread in his passenger seat with him standing between them — until you could muster up the strength to push yourself up. 

Five minutes later and you were both dressed, Art’s black jeep parked outside of your apartment building. You hadn’t exchanged any more words, but when you turned to slam the door once you had jumped out, you found his eyes on yours. 

“I have a game this weekend. Two hours out. Tashi wanted you to come. A gift, for all you’ve done for us.” 

(You went to the game. Art won. Tashi grinned like she’d made it happen and then offered to buy you a drink).

divider by @cafekitsune !!

[jonathankai]

Whenever I try to imagine relationship between adult Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng, it's always JC going "boo-hoo, now that he's all grown up, he will fly away from the nest and forget all about me and leave my old bones to rot as things should be" and JL going "FINALLY. FINALLY IT'S MY TURN TO FUSS OVER YOU".

Something like this:

JL: When was the last time you touched grass? No. No, look me in the eyes. Answer the question. When was. The last time. You touched grass? Okay, I'm staying here and I'm not going anywhere until you touch grass. Go on, do it. No. No, don't you dare! Come on. Just a little bit, it's okay. There you go! Wasn't so bad, was it? --------------------------- JC (staying in the distance, holding hands to his mouth and shouting): IS IT ENOUGH BASKING IN THE SUN????? JL (watching him from afar, also holding hands to his mouth and shouting): FORTY SECONS DOESN'T COUNT AS 'BASKING IN THE SUN'!!! JC: FUCK!!! ---------------------------

(Jiang Cheng and Jing Ling are enjoying dinner in silence, when suddenly--) JL: Name three good things that happened to you recently. JC: *grumbles* JL: Come on. JC: Uhh..... Okay, I..... Uuuuuuugh... I saw a cute dog yersteday! JL: Oh, that's a good one. I'll count this for two. JC: Aaaand I just named a good thing that counts for two? JL: That's two plus zero. Think harder, uncle.

--------------------------- JC: Sometimes I wish you flew away from the nest and left my old bones to rot. JL: You should have thought about it before taking care of me.

---------------------------

JL: From now on you will sleep at least six hours per night. JC: No. JL: It's either that or hugging Wei Wuxian next time you see him. JC: Six hours is good, I can do that. (Jiang Cheng turns Lotus Pier upside down to find a rat who keeps reporting to Jin Ling about his sleep schedule. He can't find that person. Of course he can't! They are ALL rats!)

[tea-cat-arts]

Ranking mxtx couples by whether or not I think they'd be good parents

(I'm 90% sure I'm forgetting someone)

Yep, next question (S)-

Wangxian: tried and tested good dads. I wish them luck with the whole “trying to get wwx pregnant” thing 

They have some shit to work through, but after that I think they'd be fine (A)-

Ling Wen/ Bai Jin: if we're just going off the original publication, I would put them in a much lower tier, but since the revised edition added that thing about them raising orphans together and said orphans turning out alright before unfortunate circumstances, I'm putting them up here. I think they'll be alright once they work through the miscommunication

Xiao Xingchen/ Song Lan: They obviously have a lot of trauma they're working through, but I'd like to think they and A-Qing will be a loving family in the long run 

One of them would be a good parent, the other wouldn't be a bad parent (B)-

Jiang Yanli/ Jin Zixuan: there's no canon reason for me putting them this low. Jin Zixuan just gives off a mediocre parent vibe to me (and we all know Jiang Yanli is the best)

Yushipei: Yushi Huang has good mom energy, and Pei Ming has been shown to be a not terrible mentor. I'd want the misogyny fully beaten out of him with a mace before I'd think he should have kids of his own though 

Lang Qianqiu/ Little Guy: at the very least, they're making sure Guzi is fed, clothed, washed, vaccinated, and has access to education. Neither of them know what they're doing, but I think Little Guy is good at faking it. I wish them luck in their upcoming custody battle  

You know what, surprise me/ I'll hear you out (C)-

Bingqiu: My first instinct is “no, do not bring kids into this,” but then I remembered tharnShen Qingqiu has a surprisingly decent track record? Like, Ning Yingying and Ming Fan both turned out a lot more health than they did in the original novel, and though I wouldn't call him in a good place, Binghe is doing a lot better than Bingge. The wild card for me here is Luo Binghe because I have no idea how he'd be with kids

Quanyin: Yin Yu had a decent track record until he was pushed into snapping. I think rn, he needs a couple centuries of being a babygirl before he's ready to parent again. No idea how Quan Yizhen would do though 

Born to “dual income, no kids, rich uncles/aunts” (D)-

Fengqing: Feng Xin is canonically a bad dad. I know he's working on it, but it is what it is. Mu Qing has been shown to be decent with kids, but I think he’d have a melt down if he had to deal with the mess constantly. 

Hualian: I mean, Xie Lian has raised three kids at this point and one of them became a god, another became state preceptor and then sorta complicit in a genocide, and one became god AND committed genocide + he babysat a ghost king for months and didn't even realize that's what he was because it was a miracle if he remembered to feed him… so, a mixed bag. Hua Cheng may be schrodinger’s child hater, but I'm intrigued by the idea of him raising kids just because I want to know how his own childhood would influence his parenting abilities. They should probably just stick to babysitting for now though 

Mingling: Liu Mingyan is too busy writing gay porn to be dealing with kids, and I just can't imagine Sha Hualing as a mom

Please don't bring a kid into this mess (F)-

Beefleaf: Do I need to explain this one?

Mobeishang: Shang Qinghua should not be put in any position where he has to teach someone about consent (Binghe’s early attempts at flirting being a prime example of why that's a bad idea). I also think Mobei Jun is still working on the whole “why hitting people is not cool” thing. 

QiJiu: I think the original timeline is a prime example of how they're just not in a place to be raising kids 

Jun Wu/ Mei Nianqing: Xie Lian would like a refund on his adopted father figures. They had one kid and he only made it to age 20 because he was cursed to not die

[crepezinhos]

The Power of Lyrics

POV: All Scaramouche was supposed to do was sing a song that the crowd was asking for, but he should’ve known that would’ve been a bad idea to him and you.

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is an angsty SFW Oneshot

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— AU is: Modern

— Rockstar!Scara x Common!Reader

— Mentions of vomiting, toxic relationships and death threats

“Something bad is ‘bout to happen to me.” You watched the stage’s lights slowly fade from white into an intimate red tone, making Scaramouche look even more hypnotizing in that black tank top and blue jeans along with his wine-red guitar.

The whole crowd started screaming in extreme excitement as the words came out of his mouth. It’s been almost a year since he last sang it to a crowd and they’ve been begging for him to sing it the whole show after all.

“I don’t know what, but I feel it coming.” He looked down at the multiple fans in the front rows of the audience, admiring the passion and joy in their faces.

But you knew he couldn’t really keep his eyes on one direction for too long, so he quickly swayed his head around to make contact with the people in the back as he breathed in and out for the next lines. He would frequently talk a lot about these little details and rules of performing to you.

“Might be so sad, might leave my nose running.” Was it worrying for you to be already feeling sick and wanting to stop Kaveh from showing you what was going to happen on that clip?

“I just hope she don’t wanna leave me.” What an awful feeling of nostalgia… making your heart ache in grief for something you didn’t wish to be grieving for.

But inevitably, his voice was bringing your mind back to many years ago to when he first sang that line to you.

It was your three-year anniversary as college lovebirds and you two were in a private room in your mutually favorite restaurant. Scaramouche was deeply in-love with you, but was struggling with money during that era, so he opted to give you that song as a gift instead. You even remember tearing up while listening to his gentle voice singing it, after all, every line of it was a reflection of how Scaramouche felt about you.

And right after it… he proposed to you.

“Don’t you give me up, please, don’t give up.”

“Honey, I belong with you, and only you, baby.”

You were the one that convinced him to publish it after a few talks about his career, which fairly resulted on his first hit and the beginning of his career. The pride you two shared from that achievement convinced you to play it during your marriage’s party while swaying with each other in the dancing hall with other couples around. You, in that beautiful white dress and makeup, and him, looking so elegant in that black tuxedo. The both of you under multiple red lights just like Scaramouche was in that stage, but alone.

“Only you, my girl, only you, babe.”

“Only you, darling, only you, babe.”

“Only you, my girl, only you, babe.”

“Only you, darling, only you.”

The crowd begun turning on their phone’s flashlights and swaying them according to the chorus’ rhythm and their voices noticeably rose in volume. After all, it was the catchiest part of the music.

“Something bad is ‘bout to happen to me.”

“Why I feel this way, I don’t know, maybe.”

“I think of her so much it drives me crazy.”

“I just don’t want her to leave meEEh.”

Your eyebrows rose when you heard that voice crack.

Scaramouche’s voice never cracked during one of his shows, or at least, not so enormously like that.

Perhaps this was when it would begin.

The microphone attached to the back of his ear slightly captured noises of what you recognized as Scaramouche clearing his throat. You heard him do it many times in his studio.

“Don’t you give me up, please, don’t give up.”

“Honey, I belong with you, and only you, baby.”

“Only you, my girl, only you, babe.”

“Only you, darling, only you, babe.”

“Only you, my girl, only you, babe…”

“Only you… dar— ling… only you…”

Scaramouche would typically walk around the stage during these quiet moments, jamming his head and feet according the beat, or he would interact with the crowd, making gestures or questions. But, since Kaveh gave you a preview of what was going to happen in that clip, you weren’t surprised to see him struggling to keep composure, but you were a little hurt and awkward to see how it was happening.

Scaramouche wasn’t doing anything, not even playing the guitar. He was just pathetically standing in front of millions while staring at the edge of the stage along with a few sighs being caught by the microphone.

The awkward ambient he created was giving you an unbearable secondhand embarrassment. Thankfully, from the point-of-view you were watching the clip from, the camera could still sneak underneath his hair and capture his face, and his facial expression seemed a little worried, as if he was disassociating with the moment. After all, he had almost disconnected with the song’s rhythm.

Perhaps, it was done, right? You couldn’t keep looking at him like that. Scaramouche almost had an episode mid-stage, but now that the song went on its little break, where only a romantic guitar solo would happen, he would use it to think strategically, regain his facade and continue singing normally, right?

“Keep watching.” Your colleague, Kaveh, tapped on your shoulder when he realized you weren’t too focused on the video anymore, which forced your eyes to linger back on the screen of his phone.

“Is he ok?” The person that probably owned the phone where the POV came from mumbled the question, their voice being muffled by the hundred other noises in the moment.

Buzz…

Buzz…

You felt something vibrate in your left thigh. You immediately figured it was your phone since it came from right where your stuffed pocket was, and Kaveh decided to pull his phone away to pause the clip.

“Who is it?!” He asked desperately as you pulled your phone out.

Scaramouche

“… It’s him.” You weren’t exactly surprised, but Kaveh certainly was entertained with the occasion.

“Are you going to…” He could barely hide his worry and excitement.

“Answer? No.” You quickly placed your thumb on top of the red button that was being shown at your screen, which made Kaveh get slightly disappointed, but he preferred to not comment about it.

You decided to place your phone at your desk this time, making it more accessible than your pants in case he called again.

Kaveh brought his phone back to your eyes again, and clicked the pause button to unpause it.

Scaramouche was still standing at the same spot with a breathing rhythm that was growing in speed and intensity every second.

Closer to the end of the guitar solo, Scaramouche placed a hand on his mouth. And then, it quickly panicked and moved upwards to pull most of his hair backwards.

When the solo was finally done, and the song was supposed to be back, nothing came out of his throat, just breathless sighs that were finally cracking into whimpers.

“Is he having a panic attack?” The phone’s owner asked again, zooming closer to his face.

The millions of people around him were awkwardly quiet and confused, whispering to each other and making questions. It even made you feel pity for Scaramouche’s situation. Everyone wanted to know what was going on, if Scaramouche was actually breaking down or if this was some trick to catch everyone’s attention, and perhaps get himself a viral clip on social media, or if he had actually forgot the lyrics.

Finally, Scaramouche rose his head in a blink, desperately wanting to see how disastrous his situation had become, but everyone just focused on one thing.

A tear.

Or… actually…

Two falling tears.

“He’s crying!” The phone’s owner sighed in mercy.

Eveyrone in the crowd cooed for him, which immediately made Scaramouche’s eyes to drop even more repressed tears, and his other hand to help cover his whole face.

Thankfully, it influenced a group to unite and help him get rid of the horrible embarrassment he was going through. After all, everyone knew for who this song was made for.

“What if she’s fine?”

“It’s my mind that’s wrong.”

“And I just let bad thoughts…”

“Linger for far too long.”

Scaramouche’s body leaned down as he heard the song, as if he was finally allowing himself to feel it. Although the microphone wasn’t able to catch much of his voice because of his cover, it was pretty clear to everyone that he was beginning to cry, and the more the crowd united to sing his own creation, the harder it was being for him to resist it.

“Don’t you give me up, please, don’t give up on me.”

“Honey, I belong, with you, and only you, baby.”

And finally, the moment that was most replaying on every social media:

Scaramouche suddenly crumbled and fell on his knees, sitting on the back of his ankles as he curled his entire body down to whimper in the floor. The loud ‘bang’ noise of his guitar against the floor didn’t even matter to him.

“Only you, my girl, only you, babe.”

“Only you, darling, only you, ba—

Pause.

You couldn’t bear hearing that nickname anymore or getting secondhand embarrassment from Scaramouche’s episode anymore.

You crossed your arms to think, and Kaveh immediately took that as a sign to finally turn off his phone and put it back to his pants.

“I-I’m sorry if I bothered you, Y/N, but I think you should be aware of this.” He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck as he saw your turned-off face.

“No, it’s ok.” You finally looked at him again with a weak smile. “At least I know at least five people sent me death threats on my Instagram’s DMs nos.” You shrugged your shoulders and laughed the problem off as if it wasn’t an absurd.

What were some of the quotes again?

scaramouchesversion

Kys

You bitch

I hope you’re happy with what you did

scaramouchesno1fan

How could you ever divorce him smh

I hope you die soon

You chuckled again as your remembered that last ‘DM request’. Kaveh decided to chuckle with you too since he couldn’t tell how you were feeling, but before he could even say something about it, you heard a familiar noise again.

Buzz…

Buzz…

Kaveh’s body froze as he waited for you to give him an answer.

But you simply turned your head back and stared at your phone’s screen blankly.

It was him again. That was Scaramouche about 10 minutes after having a mental breakdown onstage in front of millions of his fans, and was probably still having.

You gently reached for your phone and stared closer at it for some extra seconds to think better about what you wanted.

“I’ll answer.” You looked at Kabeh, which made him immediately nod in obedience and step away from you and your little office.

You waited until Kaveh had visibly closed the door shut to click the green button and dragged it to your ear, although you were pretty much he had his ear leaned against the door.

“Y-Y…” You heard him whimpering your name’s first syllable, trying to keep composure. “Y/N..?”

“Hi.” You didn’t know what to say, but you knew exactly what you wanted to hear.

“Oh, God…” His voice broke down even more than it already was. “It’s you..!”

“Yes. It’s me.” You shrugged your shoulders even if he couldn’t see you doing it.

“Y/N, I… I don’t even know what to say, but please, don’t hang up!” He paused for a beat to stabilize himself, noticeably swallowing down. “We… we need to talk.”

“Do we, Scaramouche?” You asked a little ironically, holding back a sadistic giggle.

“Yes! Yes, we do!” He screamed at you, mad at how emotionally distant you sounded.

“What do we need to talk about then?” You started walking in circles in your office.

“Our… our divorce.” You hated how those words immediately triggered memories in your mind.

“Kuni, please… don’t do this! We don’t have to do this!” You cried and begged to him in pure desperation while trying to hold him by his wrist to stop him from walking around your shared room.

“Can you fucking stop clinging on me, for fuck’s sake?!” His hands carelessly pushed your hands away from his wrist, repelling it away from you afterwards as if he disgusted you.

“We can still fight for our marriage, Scaramouche! For us! We still love each other despite the problem we’re going through right now, don’t we?!” You desperately placed your hands at your chest, trying to make yourself the target of his attention.

But all Scaramouche did was roll his eyes back and sigh in pure boredom and stress.

“I DON’T WANT ‘US’ ANYMORE!” He screamed at the top of his lungs to you, making you flinch away several times, pausing to recover some of his breath before screaming at you again. “IF ‘US’ IS YOU FUCKING PISSING ME OFF EVERY FUCKING DAY BECAUSE OF SOME STUPID HOUSE CHORES OR BECAUSE OF MY SLEEP SCHEDULE, I DON’T WANT IT!”

“No, no, no, no, no!” His words made you feel like your whole world was beginning to crumble in front of you and that your heart shattered in a million pieces. “PLEASE!” You threw yourself onto his legs, latching your hands on him like a leech, knees banging hard against the floor, but you ignored the pain for the sake of him. “I’ll do anything for you to not do this, Scaramouche! I’ll stop complaining, I’ll stop demanding things from you, I’ll let you do whatever you want, I’ll take care of the house, anything at all! I just don’t want us to end like this!” You pathetically sobbed on his pants, wetting him mercilessly.

Ick.

That was what he felt for you at that moment and that was how those memories made you feel now.

“What about it?” You finally focused back on Scaramouche, who was still waiting for a response.

“I… I don’t think we…” He still seemed lost on his own thoughts and memories as he spoke to you, just like he was onstage. “I don’t think we should’ve separated our ways, Y/N…” He finally said it.

You never felt such an agonizing feeling of unfairness and hypocrisy in your entire life.

“Oh, really? Why do you think that?” You scoffed at his feelings.

“I sang the song… your song…” He initiated but his voice beginning to break again due to his crying. “But I started remembering the lyrics and why and when I wrote them, and I..!” Scaramouche couldn’t hold back his cry, not being able to finish himself for a few seconds. “I regret it, Y/N!” He screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Interesting.” You wanted to keep listening to him.

“I don’t know what was I thinking, Y/N… I was such a fucking idiot..! All that you were doing was worry and care for my health and I fucking… I fucking ruined it all..!” His voice became hoarse in that matter of seconds.

“I know.”

“Please… let’s talk about it… we can still fight for it…” It hurt to hear those words only now. You would’ve done anything to hear them a year ago.

“No, we can’t.” Your voice finally started to break too as your anger increased. It was an absurd to hear your words come out of his mouth like that.

“Huh..?” Scaramouche didn’t seem to process those words.

“You’re right, Scaramouche. I would spend hours, every single day, begging for you to not leave me, to stop with the divorce. I would kneel and hold you for your minimum care and attention and tell you that I forgave every fucking wrong thing that you did to me or the house, your ignorance, your stupidity, your distance, but you ignored it. Every single attempt of mine went straight to trash.” You started to feel a few tears forming in the back of your eyes too, and you could hear Scaramouche whimpering in regret as you detailed your past with him.

“I know I shouldn’t have done that, Y/N! I learned my lesson! I finally fucking learned on that stupid stage that it is stupid of me to ignore and neglect help and that I should appreciate it instead! I want to stop myself from doing it! I want to heal myself and become a better person! I want to heal us! That’s why I’m calling you, Y/N, I fucking love you! I love you with every fiber of my heart and every damn cell of my body! My whole fucking career doesn’t have a meaning without you!” He paused for a moment again to hyperventilate and cry for a few seconds while you reflected. “Listen to me…” His voice sounded a little bit more serious now, but still full with tears and emotion. “We can solve this. Everything will be ok between us. We can begin doing couple therapy once a week, and—”

“We?” You cut him off with a sarcastic laugh, causing him to stop talking. “You’re the only one who needs therapy here, Scara.”

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N! Can you stop being so fucking rude and listen to me for one minute?! I know I have no fucking rights to be asking you this right now, but I’m trying my best to express my regret here!” He seemed extremely triggered with your sarcasm.

“That’s your best?!” That was the loudest scoff you had ever done in your life.

“If you gave me a fucking chance to talk instead of cutting me off like some annoying spoiled bitch, I would’ve—!” You heard Scaramouche’s breath hitch as he realized he had said the wrongs words. “I… Fuck, I’m sorry..!” He whimpered again, anxiety hitting him like a truck.

“That’s your problem, Scaramouche. You can’t handle the consequences of your actions. You bottle them up until they explode. You couldn’t handle your career’s demand, you couldn’t handle our divorce, you couldn’t handle the aftermath of it… and you’re finally exploding to the only person in the world that would be willing to listen to you and help you, me. But, unfortunately, you chose to neglect me too until I had no option but to distance myself from you. And your execution was so lame, that now… I’m not interested in you or ‘us’ anymore, Scaramouche.” You were brutally neutral as you broke his heart, which made them even more painful to Scaramouche.

“You don’t mean it…” He whimpered like a kid.

“I’m seeing other guys, Scaramouche.” Finally, the phone call went silent for a moment.

Scaramouche tried mumbling some syllables at first, desperate to argue back as soon as possible, but you truly had left him speechless.

“W… Wha—?” Finally, you brought the phone’s screen to your eyes again, and smashed that red button with your thumb.

You threw it on your desk with less care right after, and proceeded to ignore it.

Breathe in…

And…

Breathe out.

It was done.

You felt guilty about being so cold to that rare moment of Scaramouche’s vulnerability, but you couldn’t deny that feeling of joy in the back of your heart. After so many months worrying 24/7 about his mental health when his career was at its peak, and being pushed away like you were some stranger, being mistreated and insulted in your own ‘home’, having even more chores to do at home because of his laziness, looking at your wedding’s pictures and videos, wondering how did you two manage to grow so distant to each other, missing those dear moments of love you two shared during your entire story together… it gave you satisfaction to know that you did your part and that he was the one to throw your relationship away.

And of course your phone started vibrating again. You tried ignoring it, believing that it wouldn’t annoy you that much, but it quickly did, unlike your optimistic prediction. You stopped trying to calm yourself down only to hiss in stress and smash the red button of it again, only to find out he was also sending you messages.

And although you felt pleasure on making him hurt, it was quickly reverted to pure annoyance as you unlocked your phone and opened your ‘chat’ with him, the last messages being about your divorce.

Scaramouche

Y/N

Please

Answer me

You’ve seen the clip, didn’t you?

I know it must be everywhere

These were his previous messages he had sent before you answered him, and he was finally typing again.

Scaramouche

I’m sorry

I didn’t mean to call you that

I take it back

Let’s restart this conversation

Please

Please Y/N

You never realized how fast he was at it, or maybe you were just too mad at him.

You didn’t even mind reading what else he had to type, and decided to end the only connection you two had.

You clicked in the top area of the messenger, where his photo and call options were at.

A menu of other options appeared along with a big display of his profile picture.

The ‘Block’ button shone like gold to your eyes compared to the other white-colored ones.

Block

Do you wish to block Scaramouche?

Blocked contacts will not be able to call or send messages to you anymore. This action can be reversed.

Confirm Cancel

Click.

.

It was done.

Scaramouche officially had zero other ways to contact you in a legal way. He didn’t know your newest address or occupation, so he couldn’t reach and annoy you anymore with his stupidly late regret, right?

You regained your patience and placed your phone at your desk again, trying to avoid your own sense of regret, knowing you were going to make him lose it with that.

Was he really being serious about his regret? Or was this just the natural reaction to his poor decision-making skills? Even if he was being serious, would it be possible for you to forgive his actions and go back to normal? And if he was really just having an anxiety attack, why only now? What would’ve happened to you if you said ‘yes’ to whatever he intended to do? Would you just be heartbroken again?

Bad thoughts… just like that stupid song talks about.

He really hit the jackpot with that melody, didn’t he?

“Ms. Y/N?” You heard a familiar voice behind your door.

“C-Come in..!” You quickly wiped away your thoughts and stood up again to face… him.

“I…” He gently opened the door and paused to close it before continuing for the sake of privacy. “Kaveh told me what happened… I’m really sorry.” Kazuha immediately stepped closer to you to hug you.

Now that you two were alone, you two could be who you were, an unannounced couple, meaning that only you and him knew about it. It was dangerous to announce it yet due to your past relationship, but Kazuha was fully ok with it. Perhaps he even preferred it that way.

“No… it’s ok…” You hugged him back.

“Are you done talking to him?” You chuckled at how he already knew about you calling with him. Kaveh is seriously unable to keep gossip to himself.

You hesitated.

Are you actually done with Scaramouche?

“… Yes.” You still said it for the sake of your relationship with him.

But was it more worth than Scaramouche? That beautiful, creative, talented man that got you head over heels? Would Kazuha ever be able to recreate the thrill you felt with Scaramouche?

“Oh, honey…” Kazuha smooched your forehead smoothly. “Everything will be ok.” He embraced your body another time, forcing your nose to nuzzle on his shoulder.

Despite his passion for you and all the support he has been showing to your recovery and career, you still dared to ask yourself the question and betray Kazuha.

Should you stop seeing him? And maybe… go back to Scaramouche?

While Scaramouche, still sitting on that cold concrete floor, drooling and whimpering after some nauseous rounds of vomiting while feeling claustrophobic with the size of the bathroom stall in the backstage dared to betray all his years of investment on his career.

Was his career and all that fame worth the divorce?

Even if he wanted to ponder about it, unfortunately his investors were finally able to locate him and begun banging in his door, asking him to come out of the stall immediately and solve the catastrophe he had just created in that stage before the Internet spread his outrage everywhere without a favorable context to his dear career as a musician.

Taglist: @goofy-ego @the-stinky-winky @kindofshyent @alatusorrow @luminieee @shyentsfoundherink @bigmantiddys

Y’all thought you’d get a happy first day of the year and start the year fresh? Not anymore! But happy new year to everyone! ❤️

[coldlygoing]

not true !!!!! he punched that guy who interrupted his mint juleps,.

no he didnt im lying

i get that karl urban is a beefcake but bones is not a fighter, ok? he's not violent, he's not getting into bar fights, he's not physically strong, he barely knows how to shoot a phaser, he's not working out at the gym, he's not punching people. it doesn't matter if bones is being played by deforest kelley or karl urban - he'd lose an arm wrestling match against an eight year old.

leonard mccoy is barely passable in a fight and fighting would be his last resort anyways. the man is a staunch pacifist. don't let his grumpy nature fool you into thinking otherwise.

some aos fics tend to write mccoy as a badass action hero-esque army doctor and that's just not him. leonard "just an old country doctor" mccoy is not john wicking it up in a crisis. he's gonna throw a wimpy punch that's gonna miss and then get his ass wiped. i'm sorry. it's just how he is and i love that about him. literally every other tos character throws down more than bones.

[anachronismstellar]

I have no other excuse for this besides:

1) Italian YQY is funny as hell and

2) I need to practice some of my Italian or I'll forget everything I've seen in college lmao

So why not enjoy the brainrot? :D

Prompted by this amazing post by @artsarasp and @vodkassassin

TW: Old Master Place being Old Master Palace

----------------------

Yue Qingyuan was a politician true and through, capable of mediating difficult groups of egotistical individuals, his presence imposing enough to demand respect. But there was something about Huan Hua’s Old Palace Master that brought forward his street-smart instincts, a sleaziness that made his teeth ache and the hair on the back of his neck raise up. It was so bad that he had to concentrate on circulating his qi to not lose his mind. Or his patience.

Because if there was one thing that Yue Qingyuan could call himself was patient. But every man had their limits, and Yue Qingyuan was reaching his.

"Besides, you will understand with time, young Sect Leader Yue, these types of border negotiations must be dealt with utmost care. Oh back in my day when-"

And on and on the Old Palace Master went, his voice gritting on Yue Qingyan’s years.

They had been fighting over the border issue for the past five days. It was supposed to be simple, a matter to be solved between head disciples at most, nothing that a simple correction of maps wouldn't solve.

And all this due to a river Huan Hua palace had diverted themselves resulting on them pushing back their own territory. An action they have done without consulting their own maps, creating this entire situation without Cang Qiong Sect knowledge of it, only to whine and complain right after.

This was pointless. A waste of time. He could have been having tea with Xiao Jiu right now or reading the last pile of paperwork Shang-shidi had left on his table. Five days ago. Heavens, he would rather go back to the Ling Xi caves and lock himself there for a month than listen to another hour of this nonsense.

Their departure had already been rescheduled two times. It had gotten to the point which Shang Qinghua had panicked after sending the third bird, arriving at the Huan Hua Palace the day before by sword flying.

He could feel Wei Qingwei stealing glances at him on his right, eyebrows slightly raised, clenching his hands over crossed arms. On his left, Shang Qinghua wasn't fairing any better by the soft vibration coming from under the desk, leg shaking in an anxious tick.

"- And then your Shizun, young Sect Leader Yue, personally had gone there to check it! I remember as if it were yesterday! Oh how beautiful she was, your Peak colors suited her very well! And the nape of her neck, as gracious as a swan-"

Yue Qingyuan had enough.

"Stronzo, porco di merda," Yue Qingyuan let it slip through his clenched teeth, Xuan Su warming up to dangerous levels against his waist. "Testa di cazzo, figlio di puttana," he closed his eyes, doing his best to breathe through his nose, letting it go through his mouth. Even so, not even Wei Qingwei polite cough or Shang Qinghua's squeak was enough to snap him out of the pure wave of rage coming straight from his core.

He had kept himself quiet for far too long if that insolent decrepit man had the audacity to mention his Shizun as if he hadn't acted like a dog in heat every time he wormed himself close to her. Each praise felt dirty, as if the Old Palace Master were dragging tar all over his Shizun's image, perverting her beauty with a sickening smile. Yue Qingyuan could almost see the droll dripping from the scum's mouth.

"Mortacci tua!" he said with a slap on the table, shoulders hunched as he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.

"Zhangmen-shixiong-" Wei Qingwei gently took him by his arm, trying to calm him down, his qi rattling Xuan Su to the point of the sword start buzzing inside its sheath.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Old Palace Master demanded with a frown, lips pulled downwards, nasty friendly aura completely forgotten. "Explain yourself! Does Young Sect Leader Yue intent to curse this Master?!"

"Sei proprio un rattuso che dovrebbe andare a farsi nel culo," he said with a smile, ignoring how every single person in the room had their hands on their swords, or how Wei Qingwei seemed to be doing his best (and failing) at holding back his laughter.

Not only curse you, you fucking pervert but also your entire family and ancestors, piece of shi-

"Aiyaaa! Forgive us, Old Master," Shang Qinghua said as he squeezed Yue Qingyuan arm hard enough to make for him to wince. "This lord fears that Zhangmen-shixiong might be going through some type of qi deviation!" and in a proper Shang Qinghua fashion he started to whine, fat tears already gathering at the corner of his eyes. "This lord humbly requests a break so a doctor might check on Sect Leader Yue! This one has never seen him so distressed, please Old Master-"

Yue Qingyuan didn't even have time to blink before Shang Qinghua took him away from the room, screaming for a doctor, not bothering to wait for the Old Palace Master's permission to leave with Wei Qingwei hot on their heels.

"What was that?!" And he knew he had messed up if Shang Qinghua was angry enough to hiss at him. "Yue-shixiong, have you lost your mind?! What if someone could understand what you said-!"

"I did," Wei Qingwei said with a snort, patting Yue Qingyuan on the shoulder, beaming like a proud big brother. "It was amazing and well deserved. That old sac-"

"Shh!" Shang Qinghua hurried to slap both hands over Wei-shidi's mouth, trembling all over. "Have you both lost your minds?! This place ears have ears, so kindly please shut the fuck up. Both of you," and then he threw a glare at Yue Qingyuan so heated it made him turn his face away from his shidi.

"Here is what we are going to do," he said after pulling a face, cleaning his hand over his robes while Wei Qingwei gave him a smug smile. "We are going to take Yue-shixiong to the doctor, and you are going to do your best to pretend to be really sick, do you hear me, Shixiong?"

Yue Qingyuan didn't want to, it felt wrong to pretend to be weak at the heart of their allies/enemies palace, but he trusted Shang Qinghua. He could see by the glint of his eye that he had already though of plan and a contingency one in case the first failed.

"And you," Shang Qinghua turned his glare at Wei Qingwei, lips pulled in an almost snarl, squinting at Wei-shidi while pointing his finger at the swordsman. "You are going to keep your big mouth shut if you want get any closer to a certain sword, do you hear me?!"

Yue Qingyuan wasn't stupid or frigid as bad tongues might say. He knew very well what Shang-shidi was insinuating, so he did his best to stare at the ceiling, doing his best to ignore the way Wei-shidi was almost giggling at Shang Qinghua.

"Of course, shidi~"

It could have gone worse, Yue Qingyuan though to himself as Shang Qinghua dragged him all the way to the medical wing of Huan Hua Palace. It could have gone way worse. Thank Heavens he had requested Wei-shidi to accompany him instead of Xiao Jiu. That would have ended up with the Old Master Palace with a dagger on his throat for sure.

And it would be well deserved. Porco matusa.

----------------------

YQY: *can't hold together anymore* SQH: SHIXIONG NO- WQW: GO SHIXIONG!! GO APESHIT GOOO!!!

this was so SO fun ashdfuahsdufahsudf and yes I've sprinkled a little bit of 12/12 SQH over it, I couldn't help it ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I Airplane this so hard I didn't check what we know about YQY's Shizun but she is a boss woman now. An awesome lady because I said so lol

Now, to the Italian part,,,, I haven't studied Italian since?? 2019?? I'm very very rusty, and these are mostly curse words but please let me know if I said something weird OTZ

Stronzo: Shit, in this case "you piece of shit"

porco di merda: porco means pig, di merda means shitty, together it becomes shitty pig or fucking pig

Testa di cazzo: dickhead :D

Figlio di puttana: son of a bitch/son of a whore

Mortacci tua: .... This is a tricky one! From my sources (aka my Italian speaking friend) it's like YQY was cursing OMP entire family, including his ancestors in a really reaaaally rude way.

Sei proprio un rattuso che dovrebbe andare a farsi nel culo: "you are a real pervert old man and you should kindly go fuck yourself" we love a really passive agressive sect leader Xiao Jiu would be proud

porco matusa: again, porco means pig, and matusa comes from Methuselah which is the oooooold dude from the bible. idk if this one is right, but I wanted to call OPM an old pig lol

I hope you guys had as much fun as I did writing this and searching for Italian cuss words :D

And Long Live Italian YQY, may he finally go off and bite many people's heads like he deserves